by James Burke

The Canyon of the River of Lost Souls is a limited access area of rare character. Access was virtually prevented by vertical cliffs rising from the waters of the roaring river--foaming waters alien to thoughts of aquatic entry.

© 1999, James Burke

These waters cascade from the roof of the nation five miles away and fourteen thousand feet in elevation. Their dangerously unpredictable behavior is born of such descent. But then one hundred and twenty years now to our rear the audacious animal “man” came searching for silver and such and chiseled a scant and sinuous shelf in the face of the cliffs. Soon steel rails were threaded and bedded upon the shelf and the steaming Iron Horse incredulously followed its course. In the century that has passed since its coming only the Iron Horse and its following have had access here. 

—Its following in cars and cabooses and coaches now painted gold. In the fullness of time it was found that these mountain’s fortunes were only in small part of silver and such. Each day hundreds of people carry away a bit of the riches here and yet leave them totally untouched for tomorrow. 

—The realization that such majestic beauty abounds. 
—The awesome conquest of man against mountain in perspective. 
—The mountains enduring indifference and inevitable victory unveiled. 
—A real feeling of where they were and where you are and why. 

Above (or below) all this—riding the cars through the Canyon is fun whether easing along a precipice 300 feet above the river or brushing through a ponderosa forest at full speed. The forests are the home of deer and elk and bear. Ahead above the river shine the stalwart Needle Mountains--the kingdom of big mountain cats and bighorn mountain sheep. In the spring and summer the river roars with strength spurred and swollen by sparkling crashing cascades spawned by receding snowbanks far up the cliff sides. Twisted rails in the river bed attest to the river’s potential. Summer afternoon thundershowers are a standard treat provided at no extra cost. 

Autumn is The Premier Season of The San Juan Mountains and so of the Canyon of the River of Lost Souls. The magic starts to stir in mid-August — slightly cooler nights-a few more cloudless days—a slight tinge of yellow at the tips of the rabbit bush. 

The orchestration of color and atmospheric charms swells through September to an optimum around October First then trails away slowly into November snows. A ride on the rails of the River of Lost Souls in this season will not be forgotten. 

In winter The Canyon is hushed in snow--The trees are trimmed with icicles—The river muffled with ice. The stark beauty of the mountains in black and white is astounding. 

The sky is never bluer than in winter and the air is as invigorating as a hot drink is refreshing. Man’s taming of this wild environment may be most apparently temporary in winter. 

A favorite for all seasons is The Alamosa Parlor Car. “The Most Beautiful in the World.” Always the last car on the train with a panoramic view, The Alamosa has been made world famous by bartender Chuck Johnson. “If you want a drink real bad—That’s the way I make ‘em.” 

You have not seen The San Juan Mountains until you’ve seen The Canyon of The River of Lost Souls —and there’s only one way. 

Copyright 2000-2006 James Burke

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